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User blog:El Alamein/Day One: Hunger Games Tournament Redux
Ha ha ha! Thank you! Thank you very much! Ha ha ha ha... you're all too kind! I hope you're all good and ready--because I know I am--for another riveting bout of everyone's favorite Hunger Games! And what a special occasion this is too! We've made a lot of changes just for you viewers this year around, a lot of changes that are going to really raise the stakes! We've given the tributes weapons right from the start, we've given them armor, heck! We've pretty much made them into individual armies! But I know what you're all really excited for, of course! Ha ha ha, of course I do. You all want to meet the tributes! Well, without further ado, let's meet this year's contestants! Tributes Here I present the list of tributes and their weapons/backpack loadouts and X-Factor ratings. For more information on their biographies, please see this link. |-| Isabella de Santa (Cfp3157)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 7.15 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *'Close Range - Utility Knife:' A custom-designed blade utilized by Isanella, the blade itself is 10 inches long, has a serrated blade with grooves to prevent blood from spilling onto the leather wrapped handle. It functions as a traditional knife, a hunting knife he can use to skin animals, and as a functional saw. *'Mid Range - Machete:' An all steel axe with a rubber grip and a notch just above the handle about 20 inches long, with an 18 inch blade. The blade of the axe is primarily meant for chopping wood, it can also chop into people with ease. She prefers to not use her machete though, because it requires an amount of skill and combat dedication she prefers to avoid. *'Long Range - Blowgun:' A standard blowgun. Isabella seldom uses this weapon; she either tips it in poison and aims for the neck, or aims for the eyes if she can take the shot. *'Special - Traps:' Isabella, having learned to live off the grid, is an expert trapper and ambusher. Utilizing whatever natural materials around him, Isabella can create almost any trap that can function with enough time. *'Armor - Tactical Suit:' A one-piece body suit that, while offering little in terms of actual protection against weapons, can adjust to whatever natural conditions to ensure survival. It is also easy to camoflauge. Backpack: *A flint and steel fire kit *A dozen pieces of charcloth *A survivalist's mess kit (plate, spork, and mug) *Canteen *Knife and axe sharpeners *Basic first aid supplies (bandages, e-blanket, disinfectant, and allergy pills) |-| Kouta Johnson (So-Pro Warrior)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 7.47 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Tomahawk *Mid Range: Ninjato *Long Range: Recurve Bow and Arrows *Special: Hidden Blade *Armor: Leather Armor which he wore underneath his black robes so that he could keep quiet and blend in the night. Backpack: Canteen for water, extra bowstring, flint and steel, utility knife for disarming traps and skinning animals for food, wrapping bandages and rubbing achohol. |-| Finn Müller (WanderingSkull)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 8.04 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Katar *Mid Range: Kilij *Long Range: Throwing Knives *Special: Spear: Think Oberyn Martell style, perfect for thursts and cutting. *Armor: Spider Silk Cloak: Now I know what you're thinking, why a cloak/poncho? Why not some real armor? Well, its spider silk, incredibly light weight and stronger than steel. The cloak is meant to conceal weapons, your typical cloak and dagger. He incorporates the cloak into his fighting style, using it to blind enemies or as a sort of shield. Plus it provides protection against the elements, is warm (mmmm spider silk) and doesn't even look like armor allowing for surprise attacks or even shocking a foe when the their attack simply bounces off. Backpack: *Water Tablets: Use to purify water as expected *Sharpening Tools: When the vast majority of your tools are blades, sharpening and maintence are going to be needed. *Fire starters: He's already got the cloak to sleep in, but he's going to need a warm to keep himself having some light or to cook food. *Canteen: Used for easy access to maintain and save your water. *Rations: About 2-3 days worth of food. *Rope: Perfect to climb trees, make some traps of if you want to get creative then used to strangle someone or create a noose. *Basic first aid supplies: Bandage, disinfectant, painkillers. |-| Bradley Jackson (Deathblade 100)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 6.21 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Hunting Knife *Mid Range: Claw Hammer *Long Range: Wooden Longbow *Special: Garrotte *Armor: Studded leather cuirass Backpack: *Fletching Knife *Broadheads *Bandages *Beeswax *Bowstring *Whetstone |-| Garrett McKinley (Wassboss)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 6.74 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Shark Toothed Club- A small sturdy club about 12 inches long, it has tiger shark teeth carefully melded into it. Garrett also carries around a small pouch of spare teeth in case any become dislodged. *Mid Range: Trident- A long steel trident about five feet long. *Long Range: Atlatl and Spear- While the Atlatl is pretty standard the spear has a tip made from sharpened stone so that it can easily be replaced if it snaps. *Special: Multi Functional Fishing Hook- This tool consists of a large metal fishing hook about the size of a human hand, with four nasty barbed spikes. The hook has a nyon rope attached to it which can be stored within the metal rod holding the hooks together which can be used as a makeshift fishing rod, grappling hook or to trip or strangle and opponent. *Armor: Turtle Shell Shield- Garrett has constructed a circular turtle shell shield which is roughly a metre wide across. Garrett keeps it fastened to his back when not in combat. Backpack: Apparently empty, but things can be placed inside it during the Games. |-| Owen O'Haire (MilenHD)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 6.74 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Bulgarian Saber *Mid Range: Zweihander *Long Range: Arbalest *Special: M1918 Trench Knife *Armor: Riot Shield Backpack: Medic Kit, utility knife (for removing traps), lighter, bottle of water, and flint for sharpening. |-| Jessica Wilderson (Appelmonkey)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 7.16 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Bowie knife, used as tool and weapon *Mid Range: Naginata *Long Range: Composite bow *Special: Nails, Jess carries around some nails in her pockets that she throws at the eyes of her oppenents to blind them or at their feet so they will step on it and harm their feet, giving Jess a beter chance to escape. *Armor: Chainmail with steel plates that cover the heart, from front and back. The plates also cover her lungs. She wears a jacket over it to make the locations of the steel plates less obvious. Backpack: Canteen, strong rope, family photo, binoculars, 7 strips of beef jerky, rubbing alcohol, binding wraps, flint and steel. |-| Isaac Darkstone (BeastMan14)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 8.42 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Katar *Mid Range: Glaive *Long Range: Crossbow *Special: Black Eggs. (Yes, the ones from Deadliest Warrior. Not just eggs painted black.) *Armor: Polymer-laced clothing. (Like the Kingpin's suit in Daredevil. Except more casual. Think long-sleeved shirt, hoodie, and pants.) Backpack: Canteen, rations, medical kit, space blanket, and matches. |-| Johann Nilson (Snigel)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 6.25 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Kodachi *Mid Range: Double-handed Axe *Long Range: Modern Crossbow *Special: Crowbar- can be used as a tool and as a weapon. *Armor: Stab vest- like a bulletproof vest, but instead of bullets, it protects against bladed weapons. Not really useful against projectiles, i.e. arrows. Backpack: 1 canteen (filled with water, ofcourse), 3 pieces of medical tape, 1 bottle of alcohol (primarily for medical reasons), 1 MRE. |-| Percival S. Anderson (WraithOfWaffle)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 3.93 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: "Metamorphisis" Butterfly Knife with Ivory Handle *Mid Range: Club with M1 Bayonet Attached *Long Range: Ballistic Knife with 3 Spare Knives *Special: Bear Trap *Armor: Riot Shield with Spikes Backpack: None. |-| Francis Howard (Monkey Doctor 33)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 6.71 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Steel Falchion *Mid Range: Claymore *Long Range: Crossbow-Gun (a gun that shoots out crossbow bolts, modeled after handguns) *Special: Spiked Warhammer *Armor: Steel Chestplate Backpack: Survival backpack contains a medikit and two drinking water bottles. |-| Dan the Decapitator (Elgb333)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 6.50 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Katana *Mid Range: Spear (which is both a melee and thrown weapon) *Long Range: Compound Pistol Crossbow with attachable red dot sight *Special: Viking axe (throwable) *Armor: Tactical shield (http://gunfightertraininggroup.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/DSCF1771.jpg) Backpack: Survivor's kit (fire-making tools such as flint, medical supplies, rope, collapsible tent, water cleaner) |-| DeJango Farchand (Weew1213)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 7.34 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Gladius *Mid Range: Dory Spear (Can be used as a melee weapon and thrown) *Long Range: Compound Bow *Special: Jagdkommando Tri-dagger *Armor: Scutum Backpack: None. |-| Jacob Hansen (Weew1213's Alternate)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 7.28 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Stone Tomahawk *Mid Range: Maquahuitl *Long Range: Long Bow *Special: Combat knife *Armor: Kevlar Vest Backpack: Military Backpack - Apparently empty, but things can be placed inside it during the Games. |-| Mohammed Dean (ILoveBattles)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 6.03 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Steel Tomahawk (Does not throw) *Mid Range: Baseball Bat (With barbed wire wrapped around it) *Long Range: Crossbow (Modernized) *Special: A Brick (He hits people in the head with and it can be thrown) *Armor: None. Backpack: A waterskin, a standard Hunting Knife, (for skinning animals), and some memiors of his family. |-| Aaron Porter (BattleGames1)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 5.17 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Butterfly knife *Mid Range: Mallet (designed to resemble Thor's hammer Mjolnir; but he doesn't throw it) *Long Range: Shuriken/Ninja stars (sharpened edges) *Special: Long cloth cloak/cape (attachable to his hoodie) *Armor: Custom-designed hoodie made of spider silk with the the "hood" part designed to emulate a mask shaped like Batman's but in an owl shape (also has lenses) Utility Belt (used instead of backpack): Swiss army knife, matches, water canteen, emergency medical kit |-| Shiloh Zao (Leolab)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 8.36 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Rampuri *Mid Range: Slotted Bowie Knife *Long Range: Throwing knives *Special: Knifebow: A specialized crossbow designed to shoot small, kifeblade-like quarrels. Each quarrel has a diamond cross-section and is sharp on both ends, with a round, feathered tang. Total length of each quarrel is 12.7 cm length, and is fired at an average muzzle velocity of 106.68 m/s. (Note: pay attention to units) *Armor: Spider Silk camo-patterned lab coat Backpack: *Several small chunks of sapphire, chisel, and hammer to make new knives *Wood and twine to make handle *Three days' worth of military rations |-| Albert Amein (El Alamein)= Official Training Score (Averaged): 7.33 Weapons and Equipment Weapons: *Close Range: Smatchet Knife *Mid Range: Hasta *Long Range: Sling *Special: The Mic - a heavy mace designed to look like a microphone. Albert likes to imagine he'd execute a downed foe with it *Armor: Nasal helmet Backpack: Canteen, water purifying tablets. Roll of bandages. 3 day's worth rations. Binoculars. Whistle. Dark blue wool blanket (blends in with darkness better than black). Change of socks. Hair gel. Mirror. Teams #Shiloh Zao (Leolab) and Finn Müller (WanderingSkull) #Albert Amein (El Alamein), Mohammed Dean (ILoveBattles), and Bradley Jackson (Deathblade 100) #Kouta Johnson (So-Pro Warrior) and Aaron Porter (BattleGames1) Battle The sun was bright—or perhaps it was artificial light. Who could tell what was real and what was synthetic in the arena? If there was one thing the Capital could receive credit for, it was always their skill with opulence and showiness, and this year’s Hunger Games arena was no different. The tributes stood, somewhat awed, gaping and looking around on their small platforms as the digital clock hanging over the Cornucopia ticked down. Beyond, in a ring around the small sunny clearing, squatted a dense forest—and beyond that, who knew? The Hunger Games. An event that plagued the minds of those unfortunate enough to not be born within the confines of the Capital. The rules were the same for the most part for every single one of these ‘festivities’. Twenty-four enter. Twenty-three eie. One lives to tell the tale and is granted the privilege of living a life of comfort. This year, the game makers decided to spice things up and personally select those they found would provide the greatest entertainment to those in the Capital and their districts. All tributes could come from various backgrounds--they were able to find from wandering merchants, vigilantes, and, of course, the careers. Thus began this year’s Games after the tour around the Capital to capture the attention of its residents, training, the scores, and the feasts for those who suffered lives of depravity. Still, none of it mattered any more for those who stood upon their platforms, eyes locked on the gleaming Cornucopia or looking for the quickest opportunity to escape the initial Bloodbath. There was a large clearing in the center of the stadium, giving each tribute an unobstructed view of their fellow tributes and soon-to-be opponents, and a view of the beautiful forest they stood within. The sound of birds chirping, the wind blowing, and the trees dancing in the breeze. It all seemed to abruptly come to an end with the sound of explosions ripping throughout the arena. Several of the tributes stepped off their platforms and activated the explosives within. The countdown began. One minute till the games commenced, and already several had fallen. Fifty. ''Tributes continued to look around for their partners, hoping to see a friendly face. ''Forty. ''Tributes locked eyes with their partners, most nodding in silent agreement (while one was screaming about the injustice of the explosives to another man). ''Thirty. Muscles tensed in, the tributes looked for which weapons suited them best. The golden Cornucopia was filled to the brim with traps, knives, spears, swords, and more unconventional weapons. Twenty. The Game Makers smiled at their progress. The games had yet to begin and they were already giving off ways to capture the attention of those viewing. The Head Game Maker curled his lips as the camera focused on a fellow capital resident who volunteered for these games. Ten. The whole world seemed to slow down. One ''... ''Zero. Then the piercing, ringing alarm went off. The tributes surged as one off their platforms and the games began. They launched themselves towards the Cornucopia, attempting to grab as many materials as they could. (Percival S. Anderson managed to take one unsteady step forward before he fell headfirst onto the grass and broke his neck, dying instantly.) The Hunger Games had begun. The more aggressive tributes pushed, shoved, and clashed their way to the center, tearing open chests, grabbing weapons and armor, and looking around for targets. Some of the more reserved or submissive tributes hesitated, trying to avoid conflict where possible. Isabella de Santa skirted the edge of the Cornucopia, where she managed to secure one of the smaller chests, before she melted off to the treeline that sat in a ring around the clearing. Back at the center of action, however, Jessica Wilderson was thrown to the ground, hard, by Finn Müller, while Aaron Porter collided directly into Shiloh Zao, both of them running full speed. The two of them hit the ground. Shiloh was clearly winded as she struggled to get up, while Aaron scrambled back to his feet, arms pinwheeling, with a ridiculous hammer in one hand. He had started to stammer out a jumbled apology when it seemed he abruptly changed his mind. "YOU BITCH!" his deranged roar tore through the fighting. "Aaron! Get the hell over here!" Aaron Porter's ally, Kouta Johnson, tried to dash over to Aaron, but he was intercepted by another tribute. Shiloh wordlessly backed up, unsheathing a wicked-looking knife, right before Aaron charged furiously. He had somehow entered the arena dressed in an insane garb—a black cowl with pointed ears that only magnified his deluded, bulging eyes underneath. With a wicked overhead swing, Aaron stumbled past Shiloh, who countered with a swift slash across his exposed back. Yelping in pain, Aaron spun on the spot, sending one leg flailing outward and catching his opponent by surprise, kicking her in the gut. Shiloh dropped the knife and looked up at Aaron, who grinned as he kicked her weapon out of her reach, but his smile faded when she simply drew another blade. *** Bradley Jackson ran over to his ally, Albert Amein. Albert flashed his teammate a reassuring grin as he held up a blade. "Behind you!" shouted Bradley. Albert turned, ducking, as Jacob Hansen came charging over, swinging some weird wooden weapon with blades on the edge. It was a maquahuitl. He had a Kevlar vest strapped over his huge chest. Bradley instinctively moved in with his knife as Hansen started to recover from his first wild swing. Albert took a few steps back as Hansen looked between the two, trying to decide his next course of action. As Bradley approached his opponent, Hansen turned to face him. Albert took advantage of his distraction and ran forward with the spear. Hansen jolted in pain as the weapon went right into the crook of his knee, right before he was forced to the ground in agony. “I’ll finish him off!” cried Bradley, as the excitement of the situation took over. He ran forward right as Hansen took out a combat knife and made a slash right at Bradley’s extended arm. Barely avoiding the blow, Bradley leaped to the side, forced outside of Hansen’s reach. Albert pulled the spear out, hard, causing Hansen to roar in anger. Despite the pain, Hansen forced himself to an unsteady standing stance. “I can take this shit all damn day!” he growled. As soon as he said that, Hansen’s hand twitched in a sudden muscle spasm, and the knife fell from his grasp. Briefly meeting eyes with Albert, Bradley ran forward, knife in hand, and plunged the blade down into Hansen’s upper leg. Albert, with a smatchet knife, hacked into the back of Hansen’s neck. Hansen erupted into a series of painful twitches and gurgles as he sprawled out onto the grass below them. *** Elsewhere, burly Mohammed Dean was in fierce combat with Johnson. Wielding a massive baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, he tried to impose his larger physical size on his opponent. "Oh, come on, man," Kouta feebly protested, before he ducked under a huge, wide swing from Dean, surprising himself at his agility in combat. Dean grunted in surprise but kicked Kouta hard in the chest, sending him stumbling back a few steps and winding him. Dean swung his bat a second time, clipping Kouta on the shoulder. The blow stung. It wasn’t enough to break a bone, but there was definitely a serious bruise. Kouta backed up, his face contorted in pain and fear, right as Dean loomed overhead, brandishing his bat high overhead. “God damn ''it, Mohammed, get the ''fuck ''over here!” Mohammed Dean hesitated, long enough for Kouta to scramble to his feet, pushing his opponent forward and hacking down hard with his tomahawk. Dean rolled out of the way and the tomahawk’s blade sunk into the grass. Bradley Jackson and Albert Amein approached with their weapons drawn. Kouta looked up at them, trying to keep his attention trained on Dean as his opponent pulled himself back up to his feet. “Get the hell out of here,” Albert said to Kouta, relishing his position of power. Scowling at their teammate, the two of them started to turn and run before Dean followed suit. Johnson growled in anger as he reached for a tomahawk at his side. Turning, he found Finn Müller fast approaching. "Can't I just catch a break?" Kouta complained. He shot a glance over to Aaron, seeing if his ally would be of any help, but the dancing fool was still prancing, dripping blood, around Shiloh Zao. Before Kouta could lift his tomahawk, Finn pushed the arm reaching for the weapon to the grass. He forced Johnson’s hand to slam into a nearby rock, sending a sharp pain shooting throughout his body. Enraged, Johnson delivered a punch to Finn's side, causing the merchant to fall back and loosen his grip. Kouta began to press his more muscular advantage. Upon being forced back, Finn crawled backwards as Johnson stood over the merchant. If Dean had been able to push Kouta around, then Kouta could certainly impose his size on Finn. He kicked at Finn, who rolled out of the way and used his momentum to spin and knock over his opponent. Johnson lost his balance, but caught himself and lurched forward to get on top of Finn, who was reaching for something on the side of his backpack. Finn found himself at Kouta's mercy as he grasped for Finn’s neck. Johnson’s more muscular physique began getting the better of Finn as he slowly forced the man's arms down—at least, until Finn kneed his opponent in the groin. "Ugh!" Kouta's grip broke as Finn broke his hands free and pounded at his side. Kouta yelled at the sharp pain before looking down. One of the blows came from a knife. ''Well, shit, that's a knife stuck in my ribs. ''Kouta was surprised at how well he was taking his own death. "Sorry it had to end this way." Finn reached up and plunged a second blade into Kouta's chest. He threw his dying opponent to the grass like a ragdoll. Shiloh Zao was still fighting Aaron Porter. She stood, drawn tightly to herself like a coiled viper, as the wannabe vigilante continued to spring about in spite of his serious blood loss. Suddenly, he drew his goofy-looking cape around himself and turned, exposing his back. Shiloh hesitated before she started to approach with her knife. "BAM! SURPRISE ATTACK!" screeched Porter, spinning back around and hurling a handful of shuriken-like projectiles at his opponent. They scattered quite ineffectively (Aaron had stuffed at least four in his hand at once), but Shiloh still flinched in surprise. It was all the advantage Aaron thought he needed. ''Emitting a glorious war cry that shook the treeline and echoed across the arena, Aaron Porter raised his war hammer, channeling the strength of the Norse god of thunder, Thor. Now was the time he would prove his worth to the people of Panem. Now he would show himself to be the righteous hero he knew himself to be. His family would be avenged, and his destiny would be realized. His heart pounded, the blood flowing and throbbing in his hearing, sending everything into a hyper-focused slow motion. He jumped into the air, preparing to finish his foe with a powerful blow to the head. Aaron Porter is finally going to— Aaron Porter's voice cracked as he shrieked, awkwardly hopping over to Shiloh Zao, who reacted immediately. She swung her knife upward into her foe's descending arm, dragging the blade through his forearm and down into his armpit. Aaron's battle cry morphed into an agonized gurgle as Shiloh followed up with a second strike, this time a slash across the throat. Spraying blood in his unflinching opponent's face, Aaron dropped the hammer and reached an uncontrollably shaking hand up to his neck. He gave one last, rattling breath before he crumpled to the ground. At this point, the fighting in the Cornucopia had subsided. Finn Müller stood over Kouta Johnson's body, staring over at his ally, Shiloh Zao. "You alright there? He didn't score any hits or anything?" she asked, cautiously looking around. Finn shook his head before pointing at Aaron's mangled corpse. "With the way he was flailing about, I'm surprised he even managed to avoid setting off one of the mines." Finn chuckled nervously, trying to put himself at ease. The two of them hesitated before Finn approached his teammate. The Cornucopia was vacant for the time being. Shiloh looked around before looking back at Finn. "Let's get going, then." *** Meanwhile, Isaac Darkstone was prowling through the forest. He had grabbed a few weapons, some armor, and immediately left the Bloodbath. The best way to make sure the other tributes died was to let them do it, after all. The sunlight streamed down in diagonal shafts of light that suddenly reflected a piercing bright flash into Isaac's eyes. "Stop!" thundered a voice. A figure stepped into the pathway, hunkered behind a large riot shield that was reflecting the sunlight. Owen O'Haire tried to balance a massive zweihander sword with his free hand, but he managed to point it at Isaac in a way that was clearly meant to be threatening. There was a moment's silence as Isaac sized up his foe. "Just move out of the way, Owen, and we don't have to do this," Darkstone started to say, figuring the fool to be no competent threat, but O'Haire ignored him and began to charge mid-sentence. Despite the enormous bulk he was carrying, O'Haire still managed to slam the shield into Darkstone's body and ram him up against a tree trunk. Grunting, Isaac dropped the katar he was holding as Owen continued to press into him, not sure what to do now that his opponent was technically at his mercy. The zweihander was too big, so Owen simply threw it down and yanked out a trench knife. He stabbed Isaac in the stomach, but the blade was deflected by Darkstone's body armor. Taken aback at the utter failure of his weapon, Owen hesitated. Isaac responded quickly, whipping out a black egg and smashing it right into Owen's eyes. The effect was devastating. Blinded and in pain, O'Haire dropped the riot shield and stumbled backward, reaching up and rubbing his eyes frantically. "Don't rub them, Owen, that's only going to make it worse," Isaac said mockingly. Bending down to pick up his katar, he calmly walked over to his disabled opponent and ruthlessly plunged the dagger right into his opponent's stomach. Slashing sideways from inside his victim's body, Isaac stepped back and allowed O'Haire's intestines to spill out onto the forest floor. Torn between screaming in pain and gasping for breath, O'Haire did neither. Instead, he simply gave a pitiful, shallow moan before he sank to the floor. Isaac was about to walk away when two more figures came tumbling in from the underbrush, locked in combat. Before he could even decide how to react, they had pushed each other off the path and disappeared back into the forest. "Just... what the fuck?" DeJango Farchand and Dan the Decapitator were battering at each other with hugely impractical shields (Farchand with his tactical shield and Dan with his scutum) and trying to reach around and hit the other with their weapons. DeJango was swinging a katana, which kept bouncing harmlessly off of Dan's shield—the fact that he was using the weapon with only one hand didn't help. Dan was trying to make use of a long dory spear, but the length of the weapon was working against him in such close confines. They approached a stream that slowly gained momentum as it churned over a cliffside and down into a small pool below. Dan managed to gain the upper hand as he pushed DeJango down into the stream. The current wasn't very strong, but the smooth, wet rocks and loose sand of the riverbed caused Farchand to fall hard. He held his shield over his torso as he struggled to pull himself out of the river (it was shallow enough that he could sit up above the waterline). Dan, in a battle frenzy, thrust his spear down, but it got caught in the riverbed, where the current picked up. As Dan struggled to free his weapon, DeJango floundered in the rapidly-increasing current. It was likely a trick from the gamemakers, but that was little solace as he surged up for a frothing breath that sucked in more foam than air. Finally, with one final yank, Dan the Decapitator freed his spear and turned on DeJango. Before he could deliver the killing blow, Garrett McKinley sprung out from seemingly nowhere and landed on Dan's back, wrapping his arms around the man's shoulders. He was swinging a shark tooth club wildly about as Dan fell back and flailed, trying to shake the wiry swimmer from his torso. DeJango finally caught a grasp on solid land and dragged himself, spluttering, to safety. Recovering his shield, he took one last look at the fight developing across the river before he bolted into the woods and disappeared. Throwing Garrett unceremoniously to the ground, Dan roared in rage and bent down to pick up his spear. Garrett swiftly jumped into the river, gear and all, and swam diagonally with the current, clambering onto the other side of the river right at the edge of the waterfall. He started to load a dart into his atlatl when Dan started to slog forward after him. The current was too much, though, as it reached raging speeds, and the churning foam swallowed Dan the Decapitator in an instant. Garrett stared, shocked, as his opponent vanished under the water, popping up only once to choke down his last breath. The river hurled Dan viciously over the waterfall, where his body smashed against the jagged rocks waiting in the pool below. Garrett could hear the bone-crunching crack as Dan the Decapitator tumbled to his death. His broken body bled, spilling a growing ring of scarlet in the murky brown and foamy white of the waterfall and pond in which he lay. *** Close by, the trio of Albert Amein, Bradley Jackson, and Mohammed Dean advanced through the forest. “Hold up—there’s a water source over there,” Bradley said. Dean looked over at the pond. “Excellent find, Bradley!” Albert said excitedly, patting Bradley on the back. “Hey, man. Go and check that pond with us,” he told Dean. “We’ll cover you.” As Dean moved forward, cautiously approaching the pond, Amein put a hand on Bradley’s chest. Jackson hesitated and looked at Amein, whose face had suddenly hardened, losing the reassuring charm he had kept plastered across it up until this point. His voice dropped as Dean rustled around a bit too loudly for comfort by the pond. “Okay, Bradley, I really didn’t want it to get to this point, but…” Albert sighed. His eyes flickered briefly up to the treetops before he looked directly into Bradley’s eyes. “You were right. About Dean. He’s a threat to the group, isn’t he?” Bradley’s heart leaped into his throat as he realized what Albert was implying. “Oh God, I thought it was just me who thought that,” he muttered. He looked back and returned Amein’s steely gaze with an equally formidable determination blazing in his eyes. “Of course ''he is.” There was a brief pause. Albert looked exasperated—the harsh look vanished from his face in an instant. “Well, then, what the hell are we waiting for?” he hissed at Bradley, but not unkindly. “Don’t you think now is probably the best chance we’ll get?” Chest pounding, Bradley took out his claw hammer and crept up over to where Dean knelt, next to the pond. “Uh… it’s clear. The area’s safe,” Dean said as he heard Bradley approach. He started to turn around right before Bradley raised the hammer and smashed it down hard onto Dean’s head. The blow looked nasty—Bradley had smashed a small crater into Dean’s forehead. Blood bubbled out and streamed down into Dean’s eyes. “Shit… shit! Did I kill him?” Bradley shouted, as panic started to flood through him. He held the hammer uncertainly in his grasp, looking at the blood that glistened on the hammer’s head. “Hit him again, you moron!” Albert whispered. Bradley cracked the weapon down hard on his teammate’s head again right as Dean pushed himself forward, reaching up and grabbing Bradley’s neck with his hands. Gasping in shock, Bradley instinctively dropped the hammer and reached up, clawing at Dean’s face. He opened his mouth and rasped for air, sometimes getting the tiniest of sips as Dean’s grip slackened, but it wasn’t enough. A ring of black started to close in around Bradley’s vision as Dean’s strangling grip overwhelmed him. Bradley became weakly aware of Amein approaching. Dean’s grip loosened as he looked up. “Do it, Bradley. Do it!” Gasping in huge breaths that hurt his throat, Bradley forced himself to focus. Reaching down to grab his hunting knife, he sat up and stabbed Dean right in the abdomen. Dean stumbled back, shocked, but Bradley didn’t let up. Falling over on top of his ally’s body, Bradley’s mind shut in a rage as he repeatedly plunged his blade into his opponent. Eventually, he realized his hand was sore, soaked in blood, and trembling. Looking down at Dean, who was now nearly unrecognizable and drenched in his own blood, Bradley cried out in confusion. His throat still hurt. “Albert? Albert?” he managed to ask, his vision swimming. “I’m here, Brad…. I’m here,” whispered Amein from behind. Bradley felt Amein’s hand on his shoulder moments before the grip tightened and yanked him backwards, right onto the tip of a waiting blade. The pain was sharp and unexpected, but it actually served to jolt Bradley out of his daze as Amein pulled the knife out and threw Bradley into the water with a splash. The fury built back up again as Bradley flailed in the water, splashing, before he realized he could stand in the shallows. Shaking the water from his eyes, he locked eyes with Amein, who stood waiting at the shoreline, his smatchet in hand. “Traitor!” Bradley managed to splutter. “I’ll fucking kill you!” “Come on, now, Bradley,” Amein grinned, relishing the moment. “I know you better than you know yourself! Remember our interviews in the Capital? I know ''I ''do.” Bradley slogged forward, soaked in pond water and blood, covered in mud, his knife held tightly in his grasp. The grin faded from Albert's lips and was replaced with a scowl. “But we both know I’m going to beat your ass harder than your brother ever could!” That was the last straw. Bradley tackled Albert hard to the ground and stabbed him in the shoulder. “Fuck!” he heard one of them say—he was so wracked with pain and fury that he couldn’t tell who was who any more. Wrapping his hands around the handle of the knife and pushing it deeper into Albert's shoulder, Bradley only fell off when a second stabbing pain shot up through his gut. This time, it went all the way through his body. “I really wish you hadn’t done that, Bradley,” Albert was spitting in equal fury now as he stood up. He gingerly looked at the wound before gritting his teeth, flinching, and tearing the knife out. “Shit!” He knelt down beside Bradley, who was barely clinging to consciousness. “Thanks for playing along, though, you were a great contestant. I’d hate for you to leave without a consolation prize.” Albert held a mace in his hands, now, one shaped like a microphone. He was pacing the pond furiously like a wild animal, holding his hands in the air. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give Bradley Jackson a big hand!” Albert Amein turned, running forward, swinging the mace down hard. It smashed Bradley’s head into a bloody pulp. *** To Isabella de Santa, the forest was a familiar home. It took her back to the days in Seattle, where the rainy mist sprinkling down from the leaves chilled her to the bone, where she could move freely under the natural cover of thunderclaps, not having to worry about her shadow betraying her position. She remembered those days, those days of independence and self-reliance. ''It’s funny, she thought. There really isn’t any other place quite like a home than one you make for yourself. But here, Isabella was no fool. This environment would turn against you in an instant, the earth swallowing up your hard work as the game designers tried to keep things “interesting.” I’ll make things interesting for them, all right. I’ll make it interesting enough just trying to find me. There was a rustle in the undergrowth as Isabella crept through the bushes. She froze. Raising her blowgun to her lips, her eyes were the only things that moved—aside from her rapidly pounding heart. Concentrating, she forced herself to calm down, until her heartbeat became a regular rhythm that reminded her she was still alive. A giant, hulking brute of a man lumbered into view. His bald head, scarred face, and imposing height would have immediately identified him if his armor didn’t do it first. Francis Howard’s steel chestplate glinted in the sunlight and clanked as his steel falchion, hanging at his belt, swung up and down and banged against it. He hadn’t really talked to Isabella before, even during training—not that it would have made a difference, necessarily, but it made things that much easier for her to steel her nerves. Her excitement got the better of her, though, and she shifted her weight ever so slightly. It wasn’t even a twig snapping (What a clichéd death that would be, she thought) but more so just a slight swish of a whisper as the bush bent. She was surprised he heard it over the ruckus he was making, but evidently he did. Francis Howard froze in place and held his massive claymore sword out in front of him at waist level. “Who’s there?” he grunted loudly. His brow furrowed and he squinted as his gaze swept the area. Isabella inhaled slowly, deliberately, letting her lungs fill up with air and puffing her chest out, keeping her eyes trained on Howard’s. He took a slow, powerful step closer to her position—his eyes suddenly narrowed and zeroed in on her position. There was a moment’s hesitation from them both. Isabella’s heart leapt up into her throat but she kept still. “Isabella?” Francis Howard lowered his voice and started to lower his sword. He took another step forward and stopped, craning his neck to look at the hidden figure whose outline was broken up by the sprawling brush. His expression changed by a millimeter. The softened voice was betrayed by a hardened glint in his eyes and an even slighter downward turn of his lip, a fractured snarl that blurred into motion as he raised the sword over his head with both hands. Isabella de Santa expelled her lungs with all her force, still remaining motionless. The dart flew through the air and hit Francis Howard in his exposed neck. He grunted, one hand instinctively flying to the wound, while his other arm spiraled backward as the heavy claymore dragged it down into the mud. A trickle of blood dribbled down into his armor before it started to spurt more violently. Isabella stood up as her opponent fell, convulsing and frothing at the mouth, but she didn’t look back. Going deeper into the forest, Francis Howard’s fatal gurgles morphed into faint echoes that faded with him. Up ahead, as she remembered to slow down and mask her footsteps, Isabella started to hear the bubbling trickle of a stream. She stopped and squatted once more, this time in mud. She was hesitant to approach a water source that would likely attract other tributes, but she knew it was a strategically important location. Back in Seattle, she had been caught at a pond, a local freshwater source that the Peacekeepers had been staking out for weeks. Once they had established her routine, they quickly moved in—her caution had been pointless once she had become predictable in her methods. She still felt angry at herself for that. Slathering up some mud in her hand, she applied it to her tactical suit, a gray mesh that became dull brown and broke up her outline. It was calming to her, to apply the natural camouflage, even putting some of it on her face. Pulling out a few loose clumps of grass and grabbing a couple of small sticks, Isabella added her finishing touches. As she prepared to advance up to the stream, a cold pinprick landed on her arm. She smiled to herself. Perhaps this time the environment would work in her favor. It was just like the best of her days in Seattle, that damn rainy place, she thought. Well… at least now I don’t have to go to the stream. She looked over at a wide-leafed bush and some stringy, fibrous roots spreading out across her area. Survivalist’s haven. A rain trap and a perimeter defense and I’m all set. As Isabella de Santa got to work, never quite letting her guard down enough to allow an unsuspecting tribute to stumble upon her, she started to think she just might have a chance. *** The night fell more quickly than any of the surviving tributes could have ever anticipated. Their day had been more or less full of chance encounters and sudden, vicious struggles, but the vast majority of the fools and weaklings had fallen. Day One, if anything, had been a brutal massacre, a death warrant signed for all the incompetent and insane tributes rampaging across the arena. Surviving Day One was one thing. The remaining tributes would certainly be in for a bigger struggle against one another in the days to come. Post-Battle Commentary Deaths: *Percival S. Anderson *Jacob Hansen *Kouta Johnson *Aaron Porter *Owen O'Haire *Dan the Decapitator *Mohammed Dean *Bradley Jackson *Francis Howard Category:Blog posts